Darkness and Death
by Galenfea
Summary: The darkening of Valinor, and the kinslaying of Alqualondë, told from the point of view of a Telerin fisherman's daughter. Main cast consists entirely of OC's.
1. Darkness

Disclaimer: I own all of these characters, but not the events or settings. I'm not making any money from this story, so there's really no point suing me. Thank you!

* * *

Calmëa loved it when a new catch of fish came in. Ever since she was very young – only just old enough to toddle down to the haven with her mother – she had liked to look at the fish. She had admired the way that the light of the Trees glimmered on their scales, lighting them into rainbow colours.

Now she was older, but she still looked forwards to the return of her father, uncle and brother from their trips. She liked to sit by their usual mooring, maybe watching the gulls or talking to the other young Teleri that passed by. She rarely went out herself, though she was occasionally invited.

Currently, she and her cousin were mending a sail that her brother had accidentally torn, having been a little too quick with a boat-hook. Calmëa ran a finger along the stitches at the hem, smiling as she remembered her mother sewing this sail. She had been allowed to do a few stitches herself and had felt extremely proud. She could still find her stitches on this sail if she looked. She remembered her father laughing when he saw them, and congratulating her on her fine needlework, a twinkle in his eye.

"Cal?" Her cousin, Lelyavalin, gently poked her on the arm. "Are you dreaming of Fólima?" She laughed, and Calmëa blushed, fiddling subconsciously with the silver ring on her finger: the symbol of her betrothal to the handsome young Noldo that Lelyavalin had named.

"No, I was just remembering mother making this sail."

"Oh, yes." Lelyavalin laughed. "Was she angry when she found out that Silmë had torn it?"

"No, not angry, she just sighed a bit and shook her head. Silmë said that he felt worse at that reaction than if she had been angry."

"Done!" Lelyavalin had been sewing as she talked, and consequently had finished her half of the tear. Calmëa busied herself with needle and thread, blushing again. Soon she too had finished and she rubbed her right hand, which was sore despite the leather patch that she kept in her palm to protect it from the needle as she pushed it through the tough material.

"Done," she echoed, tilting her head back with a sigh and looking up at the stars, dimly visible above. She rotated her head a little to get rid of the crick in her neck, then looked out over the water towards the sea, looking for a familiar sail, the partner to this one. With this wind, they would make good time.

It was a few more hours to the evening mingling of the lights – her favourite time of the day. Fólima had promised that he would come and visit her tonight, during Telperion's waxing. They would sit on the beach and listen to the music of Ulmo in the sound of the waves, as they often did.

"Cal, now I know you're dreaming of him!"

Calmëa ducked her head. "Is it so obvious?"

"Yes." Lelyavalin moved round to sit on the bench beside Calmëa and put an arm around her shoulders as they looked out over the water. "I can always tell." She smiled. "I think you're going to be very happy together."

* * *

It was the mingling of the lights, and the family sat happily in the garden behind their house. Aquildë, Silmë and Nárhína had arrived home about an hour before, and Nárhína had gone to his own home with Lelyavalin. Silmë was whittling a small piece of wood into a perched gull: a favoured hobby. Calmëa watched, smiling, wondering of it was for someone, or just his own pleasure.

Suddenly, she became aware that the light seemed to be getting dimmer rather than brighter, as she would have expected. Silmë looked up, frowning, apparently aware of it too. The dimming was getting faster as Aquildë got up, frowning a little towards the west.

"What's going on?" he murmured to himself.

Silmë was on his feet too, his little knife and the carving forgotten at his feet as frightening darkness fell. Calmëa grabbed her brother's hand, biting back a scream. She had never known the light of the Trees to be darkened. Other Teleri were coming out of their houses, into gardens, crowding in the street. As total darkness fell, Calmëa could hear cries of fear and woe.

Suddenly, even the stars were blotted out as a suffocating darkness filled the sky, and even the air around them became choking.

Now Calmëa screamed, but her voice seemed somehow muffled, as though she was screaming into a thick pillow. She heard her mother start to cough.

"Come on! Inside!" cried Aquildë, somewhere in the dark. His voice seemed to come from a long way off. "Keep together!"

"Father!" called Calmëa, casting about for her mother and father. She couldn't see her own hand, it was so dark. "_Atar_! _Amillë_!"

Silmë held her hand more tightly, putting an arm around her shoulders. "Don't worry, Cal. Come on, this way." He spoke lightly in her ear, trying to sound calm, but she could tell from the slight tremble in his voice how terrified he was.

There was no warning, the strength seemed simply to suddenly drain from their limbs. They collapsed, side by side on the sandy ground.

"Silmë…!" Calmëa forced out the name, and, in answer, he hugged her as tightly as he could. She knew that he too was feeling this sudden weakness. His breath came fast and laboured on her cheek.

For a moment, she sensed some loathsome thing out there in the impenetrable darkness, then even that sensation faded and she let her head loll sideways against Silmë's brow.


	2. The Trees are dead

_Still own nothing! Sorry this is going so slow…_

_Re-uploaded because the end of the chapter seemed to have been cut off. Only noticed when I came to link it to chapter 3..._

* * *

Calmëa woke to find someone dabbing at her face with a damp cloth. There was a lot of soft, worried whispering all around her. Several times she caught her own name.

"_Amillë_?" she murmured, suddenly aware of how sore and dry her throat was.

"Calmëa!" her mother's voice replied. "Praise the Valar! Are you all right?"

Now that she was awake, Calmëa recovered in a rush and was soon able to sit up and drink from the cup someone offered her. The cool water felt good in her throat.

"Where's Silmë?" she asked, looking around for him. "What happened?" She noticed that the suffocating darkness had cleared, and the stars shone clear and unsullied in the sky. But the light of the Trees had not returned. Some lamps and torches had been lit to add a bit of light. She shivered. It felt cold.

"Silmë's fine. He and your father went to see if they could find out what happened to the Trees. Nobody seems to know any more than you or I."

"What happened to us? What was that fog?"

"I don't know that either, I'm afraid."

Suddenly, Calmëa heard Silmë's voice inside the house. He and their father came out into the garden, with her uncle and Lelyavalin. Calmëa hugged first her brother and father, then her cousin.

"What news?" her mother asked them. "What has happened?"

"We still can't say." Aquildë shook his head a little. "It seems that Lord Olwë has sent messengers to Valmar to find out. I also hear that Silmë and Calmëa were not the only elves to collapse. The same thing happened to several young elves across Alqualondë. Mostly elflings, but a few not long past their majority, including our two." He sat down on the grass next to Calmëa and ran a hand down her hair as though to reassure himself that she was safe and well. Silmë slipped his arm around her shoulders. She glanced sideways at him and saw that he was a little pale, but his cheek was reassuringly warm when she pressed hers against it.

"So all we can do is wait to find out what's going on!" Nárhína was pacing back and forth. "It's only fortunate that it happened now, and not while we were at sea. I truly shudder to think what might have happened then. As it is, it is too dark to go out now." He paused and looked towards the west, chewing a ragged fingernail as was his habit when he was worried. "I wish we knew what has happened, and when things will be set right again."

Lelyavalin took her father's hand, at the same time preventing him from chewing his nails. "I don't suppose that something serious could have happened to the Trees?" she whispered. "But why else would they have suddenly stopped shining?"

Calmëa's breath hitched in her throat as she considered the implications if the Trees were harmed. Could they have lost their light forever? And how could such a thing have happened? She thought worriedly of Fólima, who she knew would be in Valmar at this moment. What if something had attacked them and he had been hurt?

"Everyone, calm down," said Aquildë firmly. "I don't think there's anything that could destroy the Trees. I'm sure that there is a perfectly good explanation which we will hear as soon as Lord Olwë's messengers return."

……………………………

Calmëa ran as fast as she could back home, her lantern swinging in her hand and sending shadows flying everywhere; her skirt tangling around her legs, despite her attempts to grab it and hitch it up.

She arrived and hurried into the garden, where her family tended to spend much of their time these days. It was colder than inside, but the stars shed enough light to see by. She snuffed out the candle in her lantern and went to join them on the benches.

"What is it?" asked her mother, noting her flushed face and breathlessness.

"The messengers just came back," she panted. "The… The Trees…"

Instantly, everyone dropped what they were doing and leaned in to hear the news.

"Tell us, Calmëa," breathed Silmë. "What has happened? When will the light return?"

Calmëa shook her head. "Never," she said, tears beginning to well as she got her breath back and the full implications of this news hit. "The Trees are dead."

"Dead?" Aquildë jumped up and put his hands on her shoulders, giving her a little shake. "How can that be? The Lady Yavanna planted them herself, how can they die?"

Calmëa scrubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand.

"Aquildë, leave her be," said Alcari, pulling him away. She handed Calmëa a handkerchief. "Calmëa, tell us."

Calmëa sniffed. "Y-you remember Melkor?"

They frowned. "Of course."

Silmë put his fingers in his mouth. "Don't tell me that he did this?"

"Exactly. Apparently he brought some creature over from the far shores, and it killed the Trees and drank all the light out of the wells, and then they went to Formenos and killed King Finwë and stole Prince Fëanaró's Silmarils."

She felt her heart beat several times before anyone even moved.

"What sort of creature?" asked Silmë, at last.

"Nobody knows."

"What's going to happen now?" asked Aquildë. "If the Trees are indeed dead, can they ever be revived?"

Calmëa shook her head, sniffing. "No. Lady Yavanna thought she'd be able to, with some of the light from the Silmarils, but then the news of their theft came back. Everyone's afraid that they have been destroyed."

"But how could they be destroyed?" asked Silmë. "When they are strong, and hallowed?"

"So were the Trees," murmured Aquildë. "Yet you say that they are dead, Calmëa."

"Maybe the Valar will be able to make a new light, as they created the Trees," said Alcari hopefully. "And the lamps before them, that Melkor also destroyed."

"Prince Fëanaró has named him Morgoth," said Calmëa. "He cursed him when he heard of the death of his father."

" 'The black foe'," muttered Silmë. "And so he is, if he has done this."

"But do you know what they are planning to do?" repeated Aquildë. "Surely someone has a plan. One of those cunning Noldor, maybe?"

Calmëa didn't reply. Her father's words had stirred up her buried worries about Fólima. He still hadn't sent word. She supposed that he probably had more urgent matters to worry about, and in any case, nobody was inclined to travel unless for some urgent need. Even on the roads of Valinor, journeying from Túna to Alqulondë would be slow and difficult in the dark.

"I expect, from what I have heard of him, that Prince Fëanaró will not leave it at this," said Alcari. "He loved his father even more than his beautiful Works, and he loved those well enough. He will wish to avenge him. Maybe he will reclaim the Silmarils and Lady Yavanna will be able to revive the Trees with their light."

Nods all round. They knew that Fëanaró was warlike and strong, as were his seven sons. They would not rest until Finwë was avenged and – if they still existed – the Silmarils had been reclaimed.


	3. Confrontation before the gates

I still own nothing but my original characters. The world and everything in it that you recognise belongs to Prof. Tolkien, whose boots I am not fit to kiss.

By request, the names of Calmëa's family and their relationships to her:

Silmë – brother  
Aquildë – father  
Alcari – mother  
Fólima – fiancé  
Lelyavalin – cousin  
Nárhína – uncle

* * *

Calmëa stood on her toes, trying to see the great lords that debated at the front of the gathered crowd of Teleri. From where she stood, she could see the Noldor, gathered on the hillside above Alqualondë, and hear Fëanáro's voice as he spoke to Olwë.

"We ask only for your aid, for we must have ships to cross the waters and come to Endor. Your people are the greatest of all shipwrights, so I ask you to join with us. Lend us these great ships, and come with us. You are of the firstborn, just as we are, and you too have been held here by the kin of he that brought this darkness upon you. Will you remain longer, weeping to the sea, or will you find new realms by new seas? Will you sail on new waters and stand beside us to behold the light of Arda?"

Calmëa bit her lip nervously. She had no wish to leave Alqualondë; it was her city, the place of her birth, the only home she had ever known. She loved its narrow streets, leading down to the haven with its docks and its great arch of stone, and she had no wish to sail so far across the sea, even to try to make a new life on some distant shore. Maybe Feanaro was right and she would find a new and greater realm where she might settled and be happy, but she did not wish to leave this one. She wondered if Fólima was somewhere in that army, perhaps dreaming of a new home with her by some other haven far away. If she could find him, he'd understand that she did not share that dream. He'd stay with her, even though Alqualondë was only lit with lamps and torches now, he'd stay.

Surely, he'd stay.

Other Teleri were also looking worried and muttering. She was not the only one with friends and kin among the Noldor, nor was she the only one who would be aggrieved to be left behind.

Silmë saw her expression and squeezed her hand. "If we can find him, we'll persuade him to stay," he reassured her. "Don't worry. Who knows, maybe lord Olwë will dissuade them all from this venture."

Another elf shook his head. "Who would be lord if we were to follow them?" he asked. "Fëanáro is proud and will not suffer another to rule over him."

"For myself," said Silmë, "I will have no lord but our own."

The other elf nodded, frowning down at Fëanáro. "Lord Olwë did not greet Melkor with friendship and heed his counsels, as it is said that Fëanáro did. He thinks himself mightier than the Valar themselves, but he too was deceived by the one that brought this darkness upon us. Are we to follow such a one?"

Calmëa stretched again to get another good look at Fëanáro, wondering if those accusations were true. She had heard many tales of this proud prince of the Noldor, and wondered at them. Perhaps it was through Melkor's influence that he had brought violence to Valmar, threatening to kill his own brother. Looking at him, in his bright mail like fishes' scales, his hand resting lightly one the hilt of the long knife – a sword, she remembered – at his hip, she could almost believe it. He looked fell and fey and she shook her head, listening to the soft speech of the other Teleri around her. One thing caught her attention. This she could believe, but she turned to Silmë and the other elf for confirmation.

"Is it true that the Valar are against their going?" she asked.

"Why would they need to beg for our ships if they had such mighty help?" asked Silmë. "I think it must be. Otherwise, would we not have heard word? Surely Lord Ulmo would have spoken to lord Olwë if the Valar wished us to help the Noldor in their vengeance."

Calmëa frowned again. She had never been given any reason to mistrust the Valar, and she was afraid of Fëanáro as he stood before the gates, once more exhorting them to rebel and leave their beloved shores, their white foam and sand of scattered pearls. Who knew what they would find elsewhere, should they place themselves under Fëanáro's lordship?

Silmë voiced her thoughts: "If I must choose, then I will not follow him. I know that we hoped that he would reclaim the Silmarils and thus, maybe, the Trees might be revived, but I do not like this. He shall not have my skill with either sail, oar or plank, since he has defied the Valar."

"We must hope that lord Olwë may be able to dissuade them," said Calmëa. "If not, then we will lose many of our friends to Fëanáro."

"Hush!" said the other elf.

Olwë had begun to speak.

"Fëanáro son of Finwë, you grieve for your father. For that no elf could blame you, but are you sure that your grief has not blinded you to the rashness of your actions? Melkor, he whom you have named Morgoth, is of the same nature as the Valar, their kinsman, you say. Should we not seek their aid? The loss of the Trees is their loss as well as ours. Unlike us, they have the power to redress the hurts that Melkor has wrought. Do not think that we suffer in this darkness less than you and yours, but for well-nigh four ages we have placed our trust in the Lord Ulmo, and he has never failed us. Still I trust that he and his brethren will defeat this black enemy of ours. Perhaps we may help them, you and I, but you cannot defeat him alone. not even with my help could you hope to win this battle. Only the great among the Valar can undo what has been done, and thus this night will pass to a new dawn."

Calmëa smiled. Another wave of murmuring spread through the crowd, but this time it was a murmur of support. It only lasted a moment, however, as all the elves, Teleri and Noldor alike, turned their attention to Fëanáro, awaiting his reply.

The Noldo was standing very still, just looking at Olwë, silent. One of his sons, who was standing a little way behind him, shifted uncomfortably.

At last, Fëanáro spoke. His voice was not loud, but it carried all the way to the back of the crowd, and the anger in it was an almost palpable force.

"You renounce your friendship, even in the hour of our need," he said, almost biting out the words. His voice took on a mocking tone, "Yet _you_ were glad indeed to receive _our_ aid when you came at last to these shores, fainthearted loiterers, and well-nigh empty-handed." His voice rose in volume. "In huts on the beaches would you be dwelling still, had not the Noldor carved out your haven and toiled upon your walls."

Olwë's answer was immediate, not even waiting for the indignant voices of his people to fall silent. Calmëa squeezed Silmë's hand to quiet him as she once again stretched on her toes to see.

"We renounce no friendship, but it may be the part of a friend to rebuke a friend's folly. And when the Noldor welcomed us and gave us aid, otherwise then you spoke: in the land of Aman, we were to dwell forever, as brothers whose houses stand side by side." For a moment he paused, perhaps thinking of the fact that his own daughter was the wife of Fëanáro's brother Arafinwë, so they were indeed kinsmen. After that moment's silence, however, he began to speak again, gesturing towards the haven. "But as for our white ships, those you gave us _not_. We learned not that craft from the Noldor, but from the Lords of the Sea; and the white timbers we wrought with our own hands, and the white sails were woven by our wives and our daughters. Therefore we will neither give them nor sell them for any league or friendship." After that last pronouncement, during which Olwë's voice had risen almost to a shout, he fell silent again, for a long moment. The only sound was the lapping of the waves on the shore. Calmëa held her breath. At last, she heard Olwë's voice again, now quiet, regretful, though it had lost none of its force. "For I say to you, Fëanáro son of Finwë, these are to us as the gems of the Noldor: the work of our hearts, whose like we shall not make again."

Fëanáro had visibly tensed at Olwë's reference to the Silmarils. For a moment he stood in silence, then he simply said, "If that is your decision, then so be it." Then he turned on his heel and walked away. Those of the Noldor that had accompanied him to the gate fell in behind him as he went back to his own people and vanished into their ranks.

After a moment, Olwe turned to look at the crowd of Teleri that were watching him from the streets, the walls, even one or two rooftops.

"Return to your homes," he said. "If necessary, I will speak with him again and send word throughout the city of what transpires." Then he turned away and went to join his own household.

"Come, Calmëa," said Silmë, tugging on her hand as the group they had been standing with dispersed, talking softly among themselves. "You heard lord Olwë, we should go home. Nothing more will happen here tonight."

Calmëa shook her head sadly. "Tonight will be long, we have no Trees to mark its beginning and end."

"True enough, but come. _Amillë_ will be missing us."

Calmëa nodded, but squinted into the dark distance. Unless she was much mistaken, there were more torches approaching, joining with those that marked the presence of Fëanáro's army, which itself seemed to have grown since they had arrived. She had been so busy watching the confrontation that she had not noticed.

"Silmë, look!" She pointed. "More Noldor?"

Silmë looked and nodded. "They must be. Maybe they will bring Fëanáro tidings that will calm this mood of his. Come on, we'll hear soon enough. Would you like me to stay here a little longer and watch them? You could go home and tell _Amillë_ of what has happened."

Calmëa considered this, and nodded. Indeed, their family would be waiting for them, and they had promised to bring news of what had happened between Olwë and Fëanáro. So she bade Silmë farewell and hurried home, while he found a set of steps and sat down on them to watch the ever-growing host of the Noldor.

* * *

Apologies for the long delay, I was terrified of writing those speeches, but I think they came out OK. Here's hoping that it will be less than a year before the next chapter.


	4. So it begins

I still own nothing. It's short this time, but it seemed a perfect place to end the chapter so I went with it.

* * *

Calmëa was woken by the sound of a loud horn-call outside the house. More followed it, and people were shouting. She scrambled out of bed, pulled a robe on over her nightgown, and went to her window. The street was full of people, running here and there, some carrying torches, some bows. She stared. She'd never seen elves carrying strung bows within the walls of the city before.

"We will not allow these thieves to leave the haven in our ships!" shouted someone. Calmëa's heart skipped a beat. The Noldor... were stealing their ships? _Their ships_?

She dressed in a hurry and went out to see what was happening. She almost ran into her mother in the hall.

"_Amillë_!" she said in surprise. "What's going on? I heard someone shouting about the ships..."

Alcari nodded, a little breathless. "Silmë and your father have gone down to the haven. I don't know what's going to happen then - many of the Noldor were carrying swords."

Calmëa blinked, but reasoned that they'd probably want those when they arrived in Middle-Earth, if they truly meant to fight Melkor.

"What will _we_ do?"

Alcari shook her head, looking around. Calmëa had never seen her like this, and felt herself beginning to panic. She swallowed hard, trying to get rid of the fluttery, sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.

"I... I'm going down to the haven. I want to see what's going on, and I'll come back and tell you," she said, grabbing her cloak from a hook by the door and a lantern from a cupboard.

Her mother nodded, lighting the lantern for her. "I doubt that this will become too violent," she said. "After all, we've only heard rumours, but be careful. Just take a look, see if you can see Silmë and your father, and come back. Your father and I have friends outside the city - I will gather together things that we cannot leave behind and when you return I want you to leave the city."

Calmëa froze in her steps. "Leave?" she asked, turning, "But, _Amillë_... surely it won't come to that? Surely this can still be settled amicably?"

"I think so, Calmëa, but I don't want you still here if something does go wrong. Now run and bring back news - maybe my premonition is wrong; after all," she laughed, "I am not exactly gifted with foresight. But be careful!"

Calmëa turned and hurried into the street, her lantern held high, still feeling as though she had a bellyful of live fish.

She became aware that there were a lot of people and lights up ahead and darted into a side street to come from a different route from the main road that she - along with a lot of other elves - had been using. This road led her to a point that overlooked the haven and she stopped, gasping, at what she saw.

The people crying in the streets had been right; Noldor were boarding the ships that were moored by the jetties of the haven. Several had already been cast off. Many of her own people had climbed up the arch that formed a gate out to the sea - the Noldor would have to pass underneath them.

One ship - a fine, large one that Calmëa was sure was as old as she herself - was approaching the arch even as she watched, below her clifftop perch so she could see everything that was happening.

"Turn back, thieves!" bellowed a Teler on the arch, nocking an arrow to his bow to emphasise the demand. "Lord Olwë has told Fëanaró that you may not have our ships while the Valar contend your going. Turn back and leave our city!"

"Leave your city?" called a Noldo on the ship, and he laughed. "Aye, that we will, and speedily! We take the East road, that is the quickest!"

"You will not leave this haven in our ships!"

The Noldo climbed up onto the gunwale of the ship, holding onto a shroud for balance. He was still laughing and Calmëa recognised him as one of the elves that had accompanied Feanaro to his ill-fated conference with Lord Olwë. One of his sons, perhaps? The laughter faded from his lips as the Telerin spokesman drew back his bowstring.

"It's no use," he said, "You alone will not stop us. Best if you join us now - you see that we will not give up."

The Teler was silent.

"You only do the will of the one that brought this darkness upon us if you hinder us in our quest."

Still, the Teler did not respond, nor did his hold on his bow slacken. He was not the only one with an arrow nocked and ready to loose, and many of his companions held stones ready to hurl. Yet they hesitated, unwilling to harm fellow elves while this could still be settled with speech.

The Noldor had no such reservations.

Calmëa let out a scream as, from somewhere below her, perhaps on the ship, perhaps the shore, an arrow found its mark. The Teler dropped his bow and collapsed against the elf standing beside him, who grabbed him, taking a step back to balance himself, and lowered him to the floor. From where she was standing Calmëa wasn't certain if he had merely swooned or if he was dead, but she could see the arrow buried almost to the fletchings in his chest and the horrible stillness of his body as the other elf tried to tend the wound.

There was a long, breathless pause, broken at last by the elf's cry of "Murderers!"


	5. Fleeing the city

_I don't own anything that you recognise as Tolkien's, so please don't sue me._

_Somewhat longer than the last chapter. Hope you enjoy it!_

_

* * *

_

Calmëa thought that she was going to vomit as she staggered back down the path, barely aware of the growing commotion behind her. She could hear shouting and screaming, but ignored the sound, intent on getting back home. If only she could get home, everything would be all right.

The streets were full of people running here and there: Noldor and Teleri alike. Calmëa concentrated on keeping calm, staying in the shadows as the news of what was happening at the Haven spread.

"Calmëa!"

She turned at the sound of her name and a wave of indescribable relief swept over her as she saw Silmë pushing down the street towards her.

"I've been looking for you!" he gasped. "Mother said you'd gone down to the Haven..."

She nodded, trying to swallow past the lump in her throat.

Apparently he'd heard the news of what had happened, and could tell from looking at her face that she'd seen it.

"Sweet stars, Calmëa, I'm sorry…" he whispered, hugging her close. She hugged him back, feeling the hot tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. He was still here. At least he wasn't the one that she'd seen fall, an arrow in his heart.

She swallowed again as bile rose in her throat.

They stumbled as someone knocked against Silmë, reminding them both of the urgency of the situation. Calmëa became aware that the sound of shouting and screaming from the Haven had grown louder.

"Come on," said Silmë, taking her hand. "We need to get home. Father says I'm to take you and Mother out of the city."

"What about him?" asked Calmëa, hurrying along beside her brother.

Silmë didn't reply, but Calmëa could guess the answer from the look on his face. Their father was at the Haven.

For a moment her mind was again filled with the image of that elf on the arch, falling against his friend, his tunic soaked with blood.

She shook her head hard and hurried on. Her father would not be hurt. He _would not_ be hurt.

Most of the trouble seemed to be confined to the Haven and the main streets, so once they'd got into the smaller streets leading home the crowd thinned out considerably. There were still people hurrying about, and one of their neighbours called out to them.

"What's happening? Someone said that Fëanáro had killed Lord Olwë…"

Calmëa spun to look at Silmë, who had gone as white as a gull's wing. Surely not? Theft was one thing, but cold-blooded murder?

As one of Fëanáro's sons had murdered that elf at the Haven?

Silmë seemed to have frozen, staring mutely at the other elf. At last, he found his tongue and stammered, "I'd not heard that. There's been a death, but I think Lord Olwë yet lives."

The elf nodded, looking relieved. "Where are you two going?" he asked.

"We're leaving the city," said Silmë. "I'm taking Mother and Calmëa and we're going to leave before it gets any worse."

The elf nodded a little. "Good luck," he said. "I plan to stay here in the city."

Silmë nodded. "It's probably safe enough," he agreed, "But…"

He glanced at Calmëa and she looked back towards the Haven, biting her lip. All three flinched as the sound of a bell tolling rang out from that direction. Silmë's hand tightened on Calmëa's and they shared another glance.

"We should go," he said.

The other elf nodded and retreated back indoors, while they hurried on to their home.

Alcari was already waiting, putting the finishing touches to three packs of things that were either too useful or too dear to be left. She looked up with a relieved and welcoming smile as they entered, but the smile faded as she looked at them.

"What's wrong?" she asked.

Calmëa opened her mouth to reply, but then closed it again. How could she explain? She didn't think any rumours had reached her mother of what had happened. She gulped, trying to swallow the lump that had suddenly appeared in her throat, tried to blink back the sudden burning at the corners of her eyes, and shot a pleading glance at Silmë. He knew what had happened. He could explain.

"What is it?" their mother asked again, looking from one to the other. After a moment more, her hand crept to her mouth, her eyes widening, their gaze empty and fixed. "Oh, Stars, no… not Aquildë…"

"No, Father's all right," Silmë quickly assured her. "At least, he was when I left him. But someone was killed up on the Arch, trying to persuade the Noldor to leave, and leave without our ships."

At that, Calmëa's tears came swift and relentless as the tide on a long, flat beach, and before she knew it she was in her mother's arms, crying into the bodice of her dress, crying so hard that she could barely draw breath.

"And… and Calmëa saw him fall," choked Silmë.

It was some time until Calmëa had cried herself to a standstill. Her mother and brother waited patiently, all three of them sitting on a bench, listening to the sounds of growing violence in the city. Alcari kept stroking her hair, trying to reassure her a little. She didn't know if either of them shed a tear, though certainly neither cried as hard as her. Every time she let herself think back, she remembered seeing that elf die, and more and more his face came to look like her father's. She didn't know if it was some sort of horrible foresight or just her own fear, but by the end her tears were those of terror rather than sorrow.

At last, though, she'd cried every tear in her body. Her nose felt swollen, her eyes hurt and both minor discomforts set up a throbbing headache, but she felt a little better, a little more in control. She pulled back to wipe her eyes and blow her nose with a handkerchief that Silmë pressed into her hand. Her mother cupped her chin in one hand, brushing her hair back from her face.

"Are you all right?" she asked.

Calmëa nodded, sniffing a little, and managed a shaky smile.

Her mother hugged her once more, tightly, and said, "I'm so sorry, little one. I wish there was more time, but…"

Calmëa nodded. They had to leave – they'd delayed long enough. Alcari released her and got up, busying herself with the packs again. Silmë gave Calmëa a quick hug and also stood up.

"This one's yours," Alcari told him, passing one to him. He quickly shouldered it, adjusting the straps carefully. Calmëa did the same with hers, fiddling with one of the buckles uncertainly. She'd not had to sort out a pack like this before, but Silmë helped her as their mother took up hers. She was very familiar with packs, but sighed a little as she settled it on her back, murmuring almost too softly for Calmëa to hear, "I never thought I'd have to do this again."

She was the last to leave the house, pulling the door to and caressing the wood fondly.

"We'll come back, won't we, Mother?" asked Silmë, fiddling uncertainly with one of his shoulder-straps.

Calmëa thought that Alcari hesitated a little too long before smiling and saying, "Of course we will, and soon."

Then they hurried off down the street, away from their home, heading for the nearest gate out of the city.

The nearest gate was one of the minor ones, so Calmëa hoped that they'd not meet any trouble on the way, but they soon found out that the minor streets were clogged with other Teleri, either trying to leave as Calmëa and her family were or looking for loved ones amid the turmoil or making their way down to the Haven to help in whatever was now happening there. The air was full of the sounds of feet running and voices shouting; the cries of frightened children, woken suddenly from sleep; and the smell of smoke.

"Stay with me, both of you," said Alcari, her voice calm. "We'll get out easily enough."

Calmëa nodded and squeezed Silmë's hand, but couldn't suppress her cry of fear and shock as they rounded a corner onto a ridge at the top of the hill, from which they could see both the Haven and the field in front of the city.

Another host was picking its way across the field by torchlight, just as Fëanáro had come a little while before.

The battle had spread from the Arch and much of the waterfront was in flames. The fires bathed the battle for the ships in a livid, leaping light, making it look like some sort of feverish nightmare. Calmëa could see elves, some armed with bows, some with swords, battling from rooftops, on jetties, on the decks of ships.

With an effort, she heeded Silmë's tugging on her hand and tore her eyes away, hurrying with them through the crowds.

She glanced at Silmë's face and saw that he looked very pale, his eyes distant. He didn't return the look, but kept looking ahead, keeping his eyes fixed on their mother's back as she led the way.

As the streets got more crowded, it became harder to stick together and eventually Alcari paused at the side of a street, in a doorway out of the way.

"We'll go in single file," she said. "Calmëa, you stay behind me and kept your hand on my pack. Silmë, you stay behind her."

They nodded. She looked from one to the other with a sigh and gave them each a one-armed hug.

"It's going to be all right," she said softly into their ears.

Calmëa remembered the nightmarish battle she'd seen and asked, "Do you think Father will be all right?"

Alcari also looked back towards the Haven for a moment, but then looked back at Calmëa with a smile and the assurance, "He'll be fine."

Calmëa clung to those words as she stepped into her place behind her mother, one hand on her pack, felt Silmë's hand on her, and they set off again. Her father would be fine. Nothing bad was going to happen to him. He'd be fine.

They were almost there, only a few more streets to push along, when Calmëa suddenly thought that her pack felt a little lighter. After a moment, she realised why: Silmë's hand no longer rested on it. Instinctively, she twisted to look around for him, but couldn't see him in the crowd.

"Silmë?" she called.

"Calmëa, what is it?" asked her mother, also turning. Her eyes widened as she also saw that they'd lost Silmë.

"Silmë!" she shouted.

Silmë's silver hair should have been easy to spot, but there were many Teleri with that colouring and try as she might, stretching up on her toes and staring all around, Calmëa couldn't see him.

"How long has he been missing?" asked Alcari, turning worried eyes back to Calmëa.

"Only a little while. I just noticed he wasn't holding my pack any more," Calmëa responded, biting her lip. Oh, stars, she couldn't lose Silmë too.

No, no, none of that, her father would be all right. She had to believe that.

"Go on without me," said Alcari, breaking into Calmëa's thoughts. "I'll go and find him."

"But…" Calmëa wasn't sure what she wanted to say in protest. She didn't want to go back into the city, but she also didn't want her mother to leave her side and she didn't want to stay here and wait for Silmë to find them again, and she certainly didn't want to abandon him. Unable to decide, she didn't say anything. Her mother smiled encouragingly at her and gave her a little push towards the gate.

After a moment's more hesitation, sniffing back tears of anguish, Calmëa turned and ran.

She continued to push her way through the crowd, determined to get out of the city, trying not to think of the idea that she might at the end of tonight – or was it today? Without the Trees, she couldn't keep track – be the only one left.

Lord Námo would take care of them, but Calmëa didn't want to be alone until they'd been reborn and grown to remember who she was.

She choked back a fresh storm of tears and turned another corner. Ah! There was the gate! It was closed, but it had no locks – why would it? Until now, there had been nothing to threaten the city. She'd be able to get out easily enough. In fact, she was surprised that it was still closed – had no-one else sought to leave this way? No-one seemed to be trying now, at any rate. The square around the gate was empty. Hitching up her pack, she ran across the empty space, towards the gate.

"Hie!" called someone. She spun round and saw an elf of Lord Olwë's household hurrying towards her. "What are you doing?" he asked. "Come away!"

"I'm trying to get out of the city," she explained. "This is the closest gate to my home."

He shook his head. "This gate has to stay closed," he said, reaching out to take her arm. "Come, I'll get you somewhere safe."

"But why?" she asked. "Why can't I leave here? My father said we were to get out of the city until this was all over!"

He never got a chance to reply. At that moment, someone struck the gate hard, making it rattle.

"Open this gate, in the name of Nolofinwë!" a voice shouted from the other side.

Both Teleri stared at the gate, standing totally still.

The Noldo on the other side beat upon the gate again. "Open this gate!" he repeated.

The other elf shook his head hard. "Come on," he said, taking Calmëa's hand and pulling her away. This time, she was only to happy to follow.

They made it into one of the side streets before the gate was thrown open and armed Noldor in the blue and silver of Nolofinwë poured through.


	6. Folima

_Apologies for the delay! My new beta appears to have vanished off the face of the Earth, but I eventually decided not to wait any more and just post._

* * *

Calmëa and her companion huddled in the shadows as the square filled with elves. She could hardly breathe around the hammering of her heart in her throat. She wanted to cry but had cried so much already that there seemed to be no tears left in her. Apparently the other elf realised her fear, for he took her hand in his, squeezing it gently. She could feel his pulse racing as hard as hers. The fact that he was also frightened did nothing to calm her.

"Is there another way out?" she whispered in his ear, her voice trembling.

"Out of here?" He nodded. "Keep going up the street. I'll be behind you. Hush!"

She crept back up the street, away from the square, keeping against the wall. She didn't know what would happen if they were caught, and didn't much care to find out. Surely no harm would come to them. _Surely_, even after all that had happened…

She gulped, feeling sick, and shook her head, glancing over her shoulder to make sure her companion was still there. He was behind her, as he'd said, also keeping against the wall. She could see his eyes gleaming in the flickering light as he turned to look back.

"Keep going," he breathed. "We'll decide what to do when we're out of here."

She nodded, hitching up her pack and hurrying on, gritting her teeth and determined to be brave, like her mother.

At last, they got to another small square, this one deserted. A small fountain still ran merrily, and the sounds of battle seemed far away, though from here Calmëa could see the red light of flame down by the havens. The rising smoke blocked off the starlight and reflected the red firelight onto their faces in its place.

"Have you seen what's happening down there?" asked the other elf, scooping up some water from the fountain to drink and splash his face.

Calmëa nodded. "There's fire," she said, her voice still unsteady. "And fighting."

He nodded. "I heard that…" He gulped. "That several on both sides had been slain. I saw some in the streets…"

Calmëa also swallowed hard. "At least one at the Haven."

Again, she tried not to think of the fact that her father was down there somewhere, and her mother and brother lost in the confusion and crowds. If there had also been killings there, perhaps her worst fears had been realised. Perhaps already she was the last remaining of her family.

She couldn't quite bring herself to seriously think about that possibility.

The other elf shook his head hard and took a deep breath. "I… I… no, let's not speak of it." He splashed his face again, muttering to himself. Calmëa caught the words "terrible dream."

Suddenly, she realised that she didn't know his name, and asked him as she took some water herself.

He smiled. "I apologise for not introducing myself sooner. My name is Maiwë, son of Veryo. And you? What is your name?"

"Calmëa, daughter of Aquildë."

For a moment longer they stood in silence, their eyes drawn towards the east. Then Maiwë shook his head and said, "You were trying to leave the city?"

Glad of the distraction, Calmëa replied, "Yes. My… my father told us to get out, so we would be safe." Again she glanced eastwards. "Is there… another way out?"

Maiwë sighed. "I don't know. All the city is surrounded." Another sigh and he looked around, rubbing one eye. "I don't understand how this…" Again, he shook his head.

Calmëa coughed a little. Smoke was beginning to find its way down the streets, and now that she was no longer panicking quite so badly she began to notice the tickle in her throat. Maiwë was rubbing his eyes again. Perhaps he'd noticed it too.

"How did you know that I couldn't use that gate?" she asked.

"I'd been up on a roof and seen that they were approaching that part of the city," he said. "Perhaps…" He frowned. "Perhaps the north gate. I don't know whether they'd have moved further up, but there were no torches up that way. If you could but make it into the hills, you might hide there at least long enough."

"Long enough for what?"

"For all this to be over."

There was absolutely nothing funny about that statement, but Calmëa found herself laughing all the same. As if anything could go back to the way it had been before!

Maiwë had turned away, but this time he was looking west.

"What is it?"

"Lord Olwë called on them," he said softly. "Why don't they come? Why don't they _stop_ this?"

Calmëa knew at once who he meant. Was it true? Lord Olwë had called for aid and the Valar, who could have stopped Fëanáro's attack in a moment, were ignoring him?

She pushed the questions aside, though they left a taste in her mouth more bitter than the smoke.

"Maiwë? Should we try to reach the north gate?"

He startled, as though out of sleep, and sighed.

"Because if I can't get out like Father told me, I want to go home." Perhaps her family would return there when they found that their way out was blocked.

Maiwë nodded and bent to take another drink. "All right," he said. "I'll show you the way."

"Aren't you going to leave as well?"

He looked up, but didn't answer for a long moment. Then he said, "I don't know." He stood up and hitched his shoulders. "If I can find a way out for you, I should stay and try to help others escape as well."

Calmëa nodded, her eyes straying back towards the fire. Perhaps she should do the same. But no, her father had said that they should get out of the city. Her mother had told her to keep going, to escape alone. If she stayed and was killed, she knew how much they would grieve, and she didn't want to do that to them.

She still shied away from the idea that they might already be dead. They would be all right. They and Silmë and her uncle and Lelyavalin… they would all be safe. And then, when the fighting had stopped, she'd discover that Fólima had stayed away and he too was safe and sound. If she just kept telling herself that, perhaps the aching fear deep in her chest would fade a little.

"Calmëa?"

She shook her head and turned to follow Maiwë down another side street.

"You said you'd seen some of our people…" Still she didn't want to face the idea, but she forced herself to say it, "Killed in the streets."

She could just see his silhouette in the dimly lit street, and she saw him nod.

"If we meet any Noldor, and we don't manage to hide as we did at the gate, do you think they'd hurt us?"

He didn't answer for a moment, then he said slowly, "I didn't _see_ anyone killed who wasn't armed and at least trying to fight, but the fact that anyone's been killed _at all_ makes me disinclined to take the risk." He rubbed one of his eyes, making a small, disgusted noise.

"What is it?"

"Nothing." He rubbed his eye again. "The smoke, nothing more."

Calmëa sighed, hugging herself and fighting the urge to look back towards the Haven.

They were lucky and didn't see anyone else for most of their journey, but as they drew near the walls Calmëa began to hear the sounds of battle again. She rubbed her hands nervously up and down her arms, looking around. Maiwë apparently sensed her discomfort, for he paused and laid a hand on her shoulder.

"Calmëa?"

"There's more fighting up ahead."

He sighed. "I know, but I don't believe there's another way out. We'll go carefully and see if we can slip past."

She nodded. If there was no other way, they had to at least try. He looked up the street, hesitating himself for a moment, then shook his head and went on.

Their little street led onto a larger one, which looked like it was lit with torches. As they slowly crept towards the junction, there was a cry that sent a chill down Calmëa's spine and she stopped. That had not come from a distance. Maiwë glanced at her and touched her arm gently, then crept on and peered around the corner.

He jerked back almost immediately, but Calmëa heard a challenge shouted. Maiwë stiffened, pressing himself back against the wall.

"Come out of there!" The other voice was shrill, panicky, a little hoarsened by smoke and shouting, but Calmëa recognised it just the same.

"Fólima!" she cried, running towards the junction, her breath catching in her throat from more than the smoke. Her betrothed was alive!

Maiwë called out to her as she passed, reaching out to catch her arm, but she ignored him, running as fast as she could around the corner to meet Fólima.

He was standing in the middle of the street, tense, a sword in his hand. It looked wrong and she ignored it, running towards him. He raised it a little, then seemed to recognise her.

"Calmëa!" he gasped, lowering the sword and stepping forward a little as she continued to run, throwing her arms around him as soon as she reached him. He hugged her back, one-handed. He stank of smoke and metal and blood, and she drew back a little, wrinkling her nose.

"Calmëa," he said again, looking at her. There were tears in his eyes. "I… I can't believe you're safe…"

She nodded. "I'm so happy to see you," she said, swallowing against the lump in her throat. "Come on, we're trying to get out of the city, away from the fighting. You can come too."

He pulled away a little, shaking his head. "No, you should come with me. We're going to leave this gilded cage and go to a new land. Think of it, Calmëa! New seas that no-one has ever sailed! We'll walk on a shore that no feet have trodden but ours, we'll…" He reached for her hand but, worried, she pulled it away.

"But I don't want to leave here," she said, aware that her voice was shaking. "This is my home and I like it here. I thought you did too."

He nodded. "I did, before I thought there might be something better."

"What could be better than Alqualondë?" she asked, then flinched as there was the sound of something collapsing not far off, accompanied by screams. The firelight increased in brightness as more flames leapt skyward.

He just looked at her in silence. She had to admit that, at this moment, almost anything would be better than Alqualondë.

But it was her home…

Thinking, she looked over Fólima's shoulder, back down the fire-lit street. She wanted to get out of the city, but did she want to never return? For all she knew, Fólima might be all she had left.

She sniffed, coughing a little as smoke tickled the back of her throat, then embraced him again, trying hard not to cry as she continued to look down the street. She was distracted, however, as she saw something: a movement on the ground. Curious, she frowned at it, trying to make out what it was.

"Calmëa?" said Fólima softly, drawing back a little. "What's wrong?"

Calmëa was still trying to figure out what she'd seen. It moved again and this time she heard a soft moan of pain as the movement stopped. An injured elf? With a nasty feeling in her gut she remembered the scream that she and Maiwë had heard: a cry of pain and fear, she realised. But surely Fólima had heard it too? Why had he not gone to help?

"Calmëa?"

She turned to look at Fólima's face. He looked confused, as though he didn't know the elf was there, or what she might be looking at. Confused herself, she drew back a little and, at the edge of her vision, she saw again the sword in his hand.

Something dripped from its tip.

Calmëa froze, unable to think for a moment, unable to follow the clues. Surely, surely there was some other explanation.

"Calmëa, what is it?" cried Fólima, stepping forward again and reaching for her hand. As he moved, the smell clinging around him hit her again and she instinctively drew back, shaking. Her knees felt as if they would buckle at any moment as she smelt again the stench of smoke, of metal, of _blood_.

"You…" she choked, unaware of anything in those moments but his face and the smell.

He nodded. "It's I, Fólima. Calmëa, you're hysterical. Come and sit over here." He reached for her hand again, gesturing towards a nearby doorstep with his other hand, still holding the hateful sword. Again, she snatched her hand away. The trembling was getting worse and anger was knotting in her throat, replacing the fear and grief. Did he _really_ not see what was wrong?

"Why?" she asked bitterly. "Why did you do it? How could you do such a thing?"

"Wha…" Then understanding dawned and he slowly turned to look. She saw that at some point Maiwë had slipped past them and was kneeling down beside the injured elf.

Calmëa felt her heart beat several times before Fólima spoke, and when he did he failed to answer her question.

"I thought it must be Silmë with you," he said softly. "Who's that?"

"It doesn't matter who he is," said Calmëa.

Fólima looked back at her. "Calmëa…" he said, drawing back a little. "Everything's gone mad. We just want to get out of here, but the Valar, they want to keep us here like prisoners. And your people…" He waved his hand vaguely. "You're doing their will by trying to keep us from leaving. You may not even know it, but you are. That's why this battle has started, that's why." He looked sadly at her.

"That's why you killed him, far from the havens," she said, trying hard to keep her voice steady. There were no tears now. Her throat was tight and her eyes burned, but she didn't cry just yet. "We're heading out of the city, and I'll warrant he was too, and you killed him. _Why_?"

"Because I thought he was going to kill me!" Fólima sounded offended now. "I'm not a murderer, no Noldo is! We did not strike the first blow, we merely wanted to leave and you prevented us!"

Calmëa wanted to hit him, the image of that first death at the haven springing in her mind once more. "That's a lie!" she screamed. "We wanted to stop you stealing our ships, it was Noldor that started the killing, I… I saw it…" Now came the tears. She wiped them angrily from her cheeks.

Fólima scowled. "I came to the city with Lord Nolofinwë and battle was already joined. Our kin were falling, what would you have had me do? Perhaps it would have suited a Teler to shrink away, back to the thankless sea, but not a Noldo!"

She barely registered the insult against her people for a moment, and when she did it dried her tears again.

"The Teleri are not cowards," she said. "Unwillingness to hurt your own people is _not_ something shameful."

"No, but a willingness to linger in captivity and to forestall the escape of those that you called your brethren –"

She cut him off. "Those are Fëanáro's words. _He_ came here to steal our ships, _he_ started the killing, _he_ has driven the Noldor to madness!"

"Say rather that he has brought us to our senses."

Calmëa didn't think she would ever forget this. Not though he begged her forgiveness and fled the city with her and lived with her for the rest of the life of Arda as her husband would she forget this. She didn't want that. She looked down at the silver ring on her finger and, shaking, began to slip it off.

Fólima gasped as he saw what she was doing.

"Calmëa, no! Come with me, we can talk more about this." He reached out to take her hand, to stop her from removing the ring, but she stepped back and pulled it off.

"I'm sorry," she said, her voice steady at last. It felt as though she was watching from a great distance as she held out the ring. "I can't come with you. This is my home."

"And I have destroyed it?" said Fólima. He unwillingly took off his own ring and dropped it into the outstretched palm of her other hand, then took her ring from her. "Morgoth has much to answer for," he said bitterly, looking at it.

For a moment longer they stood in silence. Calmëa badly wanted to throw herself into his arms, to snatch back her ring and put it on, to say that she did want to marry him, that somehow they would talk about this, and she would forgive him. But she couldn't. Not after all that had happened.

He took a deep breath and coughed. Looking up, she saw tear-trails through the dirt on his face as he looked at her, unblinking, as though memorising her face.

"I will always love you," he said softly. "I'm sorry."

Then he stepped around her, walked to the side street she and Maiwë had used, and vanished from her sight.


	7. Then there were three

_The Silmarillion and all associated names are the property of Tolkien._

* * *

For a moment, Calmëa felt frozen as she stared at the corner around which Folima had disappeared. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. Even the sound of the distant battle felt blotted out, as though she were a frightened child, lying in bed with the blankets pulled over her head to hide from a nightmare.

Then there was a loud crash and a cacophony of voices from somewhere further along the wall and the world came back in a rush. Calmëa shook her head and wiped the tears from her eyes. She had to keep going. Her mother had told her to leave the city, and that was what she had to do. She turned and saw Maiwë still bending over the wounded elf. She shuddered, but forced her legs to move and went over to join them.

Maiwë had removed his tabard and was tearing it into strips with one hand and his teeth. Seeing her, he lowered it.

"Are you all right?" he asked, but barely waited for her nod before continuing, "Could you press on the wound while I finish this?"

Calmëa looked at the blood oozing from under Maiwë's hand and shuddered, unwilling to touch the wound, to feel blood on her own hands.

"Calmëa," said Maiwë sharply.

Again she looked, and she hesitantly reached a hand towards the wound, but couldn't bring herself to actually touch it.

Maiwë held out the tabard. "Then you must do this. Tear it into strips as I've been doing, then knot the strips together."

Still shaking a little, Calmëa did as he said, trying to concentrate on her task. She couldn't tear her eyes away from the blood. There was so much of it! Surely, this elf couldn't live having bled so much. She couldn't bring herself to say it, though, and mechanically went through the job of making a bandage.

At last she was done and handed the rough strip of cloth to Maiwë. He nodded his thanks and told her to help him prop the elf up so he could bind the wound. Shaking, she obeyed, supporting his head against her shoulder.

"M… Maiwë?" she said softly.

"Yes?"

"What will happen to him now?"

He glanced at her as he finished wrapping the bandage around the elf's body. "We must find a way to take him with us," he said softly.

The elf moaned softly as Maiwë tied off the bandage, startling Calmëa.

"Is he awake?" she asked.

"He was drifting earlier," said Maiwë and leaned over to look at the elf's face. "Can you hear me?"

The elf shifted a little, raising one hand slightly before letting it fall back with a sigh. Maiwë nodded.

"Fear not, you are safe with us," he said softly, laying a hand on the elf's shoulder. There was no response; presumably the elf had swooned again. Maiwë sighed. "Lay him down again," he said, and looked around. "There must be some way to carry him…"

"A barrow, perhaps?" suggested Calmëa, awkwardly stroking away a few strands of hair that were clinging to the chill sweat on the elf's brow.

"I will see what I can find." Maiwë stood up. "Stay here; I won't go far." Then he vanished into the shadows.

Calmëa sat in silence for a while, looking around at the dimly-lit street. She wasn't sure if she wanted anyone else to appear; any other stranger, at least. She'd have given a lot to see a member of her family at that moment. She glanced back at the unconscious elf, wondering if Maiwë really thought he would live. He already looked dead to her, his face pale and chill, but she could see his chest rising and falling shallowly.

She heard a noise from further down the street and turned, but she couldn't see anything and looked away again, her heart thundering in her ears. Where was Maiwë? Surely he should be back by now.

She was just starting to get really worried when he reappeared suddenly, without a barrow.

"Could you not find anything?" she asked as he crouched down beside her.

"No." He put his hand on the stranger's chest and sighed. "How is he?"

"Still much the same." Calmëa bit her lip. "Can he live?"

Maiwë glanced at her. "I will carry him," he said. "We can't just stay here."

Calmëa suspected that he also had his doubts, but she helped him manhandle the elf onto his back and supported him as he stood up.

After a moment he found his balance and nodded. "I have him," he said breathlessly.

Calmëa released his arm. "How far can you walk?"

He shrugged, with some difficulty. At that moment the elf stirred again, presumably roused by the rough handling. Calmëa moved so that she could see his face, hoping that he was not in too much pain. She felt like a hand was squeezing her heart as she saw his face twist in a grimace and heard a groan escape his lips. Then she saw a glitter between his eyelashes as he looked at her.

"I- It's all right," she said, putting a hand on his arm. "We'll look after you. What's your name?"

"A… Alya…" he whispered, then went limp again with a sigh.

"Alya?" said Maiwë, shifting him gingerly.

Calmëa nodded, feeling a burn of tears in her eyes before she tore her gaze away. For a moment, Alya's face had looked like Silmë's.

Maiwë stared at her for a moment, then looked away. "Come," he said. "I cannot carry him forever and we should try to cover some of the distance to the gate."

They walked in silence for a while. A few other Teleri, some carrying bundles of belongings or holding the hands of children, passed them, but they were mostly caught up in their own troubles. Apart from a few whispered exchanges that indicated that the fires were spreading, Calmëa and Maiwë didn't speak to these other elves, nor did the others speak to them. They didn't even speak to each other very much until they were drawing near the gate, then Maiwë broke the silence to say that he needed to set Alya down and rest a while. Calmëa helped him lower the wounded elf to the ground and he sank down beside him, his back to the wall. She set down her pack to rest herself.

"Shall I climb up to a roof and see if there is anything else between here and the gate?" suggested Calmëa.

Maiwë looked up. "Could you?" he said softly. "It would be useful to know."

Calmëa nodded and walked away, looking at the dim walls for a place where she could climb. At last, she found a sloping wall wide enough to scramble on and she crept along it, heading for the lowest part of a nearby roof. She wondered with a sigh what they would do if it turned out that this gate was also blocked. They had had very little luck so far, and she didn't think Maiwë could carry Alya through gardens to get out of the city by a way other than the road. Apart from anything else, everyone was frightened and she didn't want to alarm one of her own people into attacking them.

The thought led her back to Fólima and she had to stop for a moment to swallow hard. No time now for tears. When she and Maiwë and Alya were safely out of the city and hidden away, then she might weep for her lost love, but not now.

Still, it took some time for her to stifle her tears and begin to climb again.

When she reached the top and saw the gate, though, she let out a gasp of relief. It was open and clear; she could even see a few lanterns passing through it – other Teleri such as themselves, perhaps. With a thrill of hope she wondered if her family were among them – there were three clustered close together, perhaps… She smiled and turned to climb down again. She mustn't delay if here in front of her was the way out of the city, out of danger.

Back on the dim road, though, the rush of hope faded. It probably hadn't been her family – how many families were there in Alqualondë? Again, tears threatened and she was still sniffing as she walked up to the pool of light where Maiwë was kneeling over Alya.

"Calmëa?" he said, looking up. As he saw her expression, his face fell. "Sweet Stars, is it…?"

She shook her head. "The gate's clear," she said. "We can get out. I… I was just worried for my family."

He nodded and sighed, looking back down at Alya, then up again, looking her full in the eye.

"I have faith that they will escape as well," he said softly.

Calmëa was pretty certain that he was lying, but she was distracted from that by the realisation of what had been bothering her about Maiwë's eyes. There was a spark in them different from her own – like that in her parents' eyes. He was married. But then where was his wife?

"Is something wrong?" asked Maiwë and Calmëa realised that she was staring. Flushing, she looked away.

"No, it's just… your wife… where is she?"

Maiwë went back to his inspection of Alya's wound without answering. The wounded elf moaned faintly and his limbs twitched as Maiwë touched him, but he seemed too weak to truly move.

"Alya?" said Calmëa softly, kneeling by him. He opened his eyes at the sound of his name and looked at her for a moment, then they slid shut again. His lips moved a little as if he was trying to speak, but there was no sound. His breathing was fast and shallow and he moaned as they moved him to try and lift him onto Maiwë's back again. Once more, Calmëa called his name, but he didn't respond, even by opening his eyes.

As Calmëa had seen, the gate was still open and there was no-one there, either Noldor or Teleri. They hurried through, glancing at the shadows on either side. Calmëa's heart hammered in her chest as she wondered what would happen if they were stopped.

They were lucky, though. No-one challenged them or leaped out from the shadows, and they began making their way hastily down the road, out into the countryside. Out here there was less smoke and more starlight, and they were able to pick their way along without too much trouble. Breathing was also easier and they began to relax a little. Alya clearly also noticed the change, for he stirred again and opened his eyes. Calmëa silently laid a hand on his shoulder.

"How is he?" asked Maiwë.

"Awake?" said Calmëa. She wasn't certain how aware Alya actually was and his eyes had closed again, but at that he nodded a little.

Maiwë clearly felt the movement, for he stopped and Calmëa helped him lower Alya onto the grass beside the road.

"Can you hear me, Alya?" he asked.

Alya opened his eyes again, shivering a little. "Wh… where?" he whispered.

"We are just outside the city. How do you feel?"

Alya was still shivering. "Chilled… sick… thirsty…"

"Are you in much pain?" asked Calmëa uneasily.

Alya shook his head. His breathing was still uneasy and in the starlight he looked frighteningly pale. "And… Alyamahtar."

"What?" asked Maiwë.

"My name: Alyamahtar." He grimaced a little and said distantly, "I… I swooned before I had finished… telling you…"

A soft gust of wind blew the smell of smoke to them and Calmëa looked up. Now that she was looking in that direction, she could see the glow of the flames down by the Haven and, from here, she could see a number of ships putting out to sea, heading north. A flash of hatred made her clench her teeth. All this: the fire, the fear, the death… all this for nothing, for the Noldor had got what they wanted. For a long moment, she watched the shining swan-ships, under oar, since there was little wind and what there was came from the north. Maiwë followed her gaze and shook his head.

"We should move on," he said. "Do you know this country at all, Calmëa? Is there anywhere sheltered nearby?"

She did know it a little, and pointed. "There's a dell just off the road, a little further from the city. With the wind coming from the north, it should be sheltered, and there's a spring nearby."

He nodded. "Alyamahtar?" he said softly, looking at the other elf. "I must carry you again."

Alyamahtar didn't respond, or react at all as they lifted him onto Maiwë's back. Apparently he'd swooned again. Fortunately, it was less distance than Calmëa remembered – she had been much younger the last time she had been to this place. It was still there, though, and no-one else had found it. She wondered uneasily what had become of that little group of lanterns she had seen creeping through the gate.

Maiwë set Alyamahtar down again and stretched, grimacing. Then he sat down and sighed. Calmëa set down her pack and hitched her shoulders. Now that she was paying attention, they were beginning to ache.

"We can rest here a while," said Maiwë. "Hopefully by then we should be able to return, at least to find a healer." His eyes strayed to Alyamahtar.

Calmëa also sat down. She had a blanket in her pack and pulled it out to lay it over Alyamahtar, since of the three of them he was probably most in need of it. Then she hugged her knees to her chest and closed her eyes.

"Calmëa?" she heard Maiwë come over and sit beside her. "Are you well?"

She sighed. She wanted to shed those tears she'd been holding back since her parting from Fólima, but she still thought that this wasn't the right time.

"I just don't understand why all this is happening," she said.

She heard him sigh and he put a hand on her shoulder. "Nor do I," he said frankly. "I'm sure it will all become clear soon, though."

"I heard a rumour that Fëanáro had murdered Lord Olwë."

His hand on her shoulder stiffened, and he hesitated before saying, "I saw Lord Olwë a little while before we met, so rest assured that he was alive then. When did you hear this?"

She swallowed. "When my brother and I were on our way home from the Haven. Before… before Mother and I lost sight of him." Maiwë took his hand from her shoulder and stepped away, leaving her to compose herself. She took a deep breath, trying to push aside the fear. She had to stay strong a little longer. When she saw her family again, then she would weep. For now, there were others with her, with their own hurts. She buried her face in her hands a moment longer, then looked up.

She was shocked to see that Maiwë was standing a little way off, one arm wrapped around his waist while he pressed the other hand over his eyes.

"Maiwë?" she called softly.

After a moment, he looked round. Tears gleamed in his eyes, catching the starlight, but then he drew his hand across his face again and they were gone.

"I should return," he said softly. "There may be others who need to be brought out of the city. May I bring them here?"

Calmëa stared at him for a moment. He was going to leave? But then she remembered that he had spoken of his intention to go back and help others if he was able to bring her out safely.

"Y- yes. Of course."

He nodded. "Watch over Alyamahtar," he said, drawing a hand over his eyes again. "Do your best to keep him comfortable. I will return soon."

She nodded mutely and watched as he left.


	8. Dying Fire

_The Silmarillion and all associated names are the property of Tolkien._

* * *

For some time, everything was quiet. Every now and then Calmëa caught the smell of smoke or the sound of shouting from the direction of the city, but she didn't look over the edge of the dell. She just tried to distract herself by doing her best for Alyamahtar. He didn't stir, even when she called his name or tried to give him water, remembering that earlier he'd complained of thirst. Evidently he was still in a deep swoon. He continued to breathe, though, and when she laid a hand on his chest she could feel his heart beating weakly.

At last, she'd put it off as long as she could. She had to have at least a glance at the city, and she went to the edge of the dell to look back down the road.

To her relief, she saw that the flames were dying down. The red glow was still there, but much dimmer. The smoke was spreading, though, blocking out the stars in a manner that reminded her all too much of the deaths of the Trees. She shuddered, remembering that night, but her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of thunder from out at sea. A storm was brewing; apparently Ossë and Uinen were sympathetic to their plight and the loss of their beloved ships.

Calmëa couldn't help a worried glance at Alyamahtar, though. She didn't think his condition would be improved by rain. She went back and laid a hand on his brow, and sighed as she felt its chill. He still didn't stir or utter so much as a sound for a moment, but when she called his name his lips parted a little and his eyelids flickered as if he was trying to open them.

"Alyamahtar?" she called again, and picked up her waterskin. "Do you want something to drink?"

He didn't speak, but when she set the bottle to his lips he accepted a few sips of water.

"What's going on?" he whispered as she took the water away.

She looked up as she heard another rumble of thunder. Now she could see the storm clouds building, racing on the wind towards the north. It wasn't the first time she'd seen storms blow up quickly at sea and she wanted to flee for shelter, but there was nothing she could do.

"Calmëa?" Alyamahtar whispered and she looked round. His eyes were open a little and she smiled, wondering how much he could see in the dim starlight.

"There's a storm brewing out at sea," she said.

"Rain… will quench the flames," he said.

"They're already beginning to die. I… can't see how much of the city has already fallen, though." Calmëa's voice hitched as she wondered how much had already been destroyed.

Alyamhatar reached out a hand and she took it. His grip was weak and his flesh clammy to the touch.

"How do you fare?" he asked, before she could ask the same question.

She sighed. "Well enough," she said. "I… I'm afraid for my family."

He nodded. "As am I," he said softly, his head falling to the side. For a moment she thought he'd swooned again, but then he looked up, licking his lips.

She gave him a little more to drink before asking, "And you?"

He sighed. "A little better," he said. "The water is a relief."

She nodded.

"Where…" His voice faltered and she gave him a little more to drink. "Thank you. Where is Maiwë?"

"He returned to the city to see if he could bring any others out."

Alyamahtar sighed. "In his place I would… likely have done the same."

Calmëa bit her lip, looking back up towards the city, mentally adding Maiwë to the list of elves she could only hope were safe. A flash of lightning made her look round and the accompanying thunder was not long delayed.

Alyamahtar sighed again, his eyes falling closed. "How far off is it?" he asked. "I… can't concentrate to guess."

"We'll probably only catch the edge of it," said Calmëa. "Rain will fall on the city, I think, but we should be all right here." Silently, she thanked Ossë for that mercy.

Alyamahtar nodded again. "I hope… I hope Ossë sends many of them to Mandos' halls with that storm," he said. He was too weak for real savagery, but she looked round in surprise nonetheless. To hear one of her own people express a wish for the deaths of other elves was a sickening thing and she couldn't help drawing away.

Seeing that, he sighed and reached out for her hand again. A few times he began to speak, but didn't get past the first few sounds; not enough for her to understand what he had been about to say.

Wondering about it, though, brought her onto a subject she'd been trying to avoid: Fólima. A shudder went through her as she thought of him, and the fact that it was his hand – the hand that had once held hers as they walked on the shore together, the hand that had set a silver ring on her finger and that had borne a second ring as a pledge of their love – that had wounded Alyamahtar so terribly.

Alyamahtar had evidently seen her distress, for he reached out again, calling her name haltingly.

"What is it?" he asked.

She sighed and tried to shake off the thought; there was no time to mourn now. She had to care for him and keep an eye out for anyone else coming out to this little dell.

She looked up again as the first drop of rain fell on her head. The clouds were blotting out the stars to the north, mingling with the smoke as rain continued to fall. It wasn't coming down hard on her, but she instinctively drew closer to Alyamahtar, taking his hand. He was shivering, the rain chilling him. His eyes had fallen closed once more and he looked to be drifting into sleep. She sighed, laying a hand gently on his brow and smoothing away the wet hair from his face as the echoes of distant thunder, of Ossë's wrath and Uinen's mourning, reached her ears.

She looked up after a few minutes as she heard voices talking. Familiar voices, she realised after a moment. She scrambled up and hurried towards the road, her heart in her mouth, hoping beyond hope. It was difficult to see, but there was a lantern coming, and she could see in its dim glow that there was a small group of elves approaching.

"Hello?" she called out nervously.

"Calmëa!" a voice called back and the lantern swung wildly as someone ran forward, apparently pushing past the lantern-holder. Calmëa didn't care for that, though; she recognised the voice.

"Lelyavalin!" she exclaimed and eagerly embraced her cousin as she hurried up. The two hugged one another for a moment, both breathless with relief.

"I was sure something must have happened to you," said Lelyavalin.

Calmëa sniffed. "I was so afraid for you," she said. "I lost everyone else…"

"Well, you've found us again," said another familiar voice: that of Calmëa's uncle Nárhína. He too embraced the pair.

"I'm going back," said the third voice: Maiwë, Calmëa realised.

"Maiwë?" she said, "However did you find them?"

In the lantern light, she saw him smile. "Luck," he said simply. "They were coming out as I came in and asked if I'd seen you."

"We knew you must be trying to leave the city," said Lelyavalin. "That's what Uncle would have wanted you to do, after all." She smiled. "It's what Father wanted for me, after all."

"Indeed. And now you two are safely out, I intend to return," said Nárhína softly. "I'll go with you, Maiwë, if you don't mind?"

Maiwë assented to this and Nárhína embraced Calmëa and Lelyavalin once more.

Before they left, Maiwë asked, "How is Alyamahtar, Calmëa?"

Calmëa grimaced. "Cold," she said, "But he was asleep a moment ago. Before that he was awake and able to speak, though."

He nodded. "You had best continue to take care of him," he said.

"Things seemed to be growing calmer," said Nárhína. "Hopefully we will soon all be able to return and we can find him help."

With a last exchange of looks, the two men left again, Maiwë carrying the lantern.

"He didn't have that when he left here," said Calmëa.

"Father gave it to him," said Lelyavalin.

For a moment longer they stood in silence, then, hand-in-hand, they began to pick their way back to where Calmëa had left Alymahtar.

In the darkness, their eyes dazzled from the lantern light, it was difficult to find him, but at the right moment he stirred and called out for Calmëa.

"Here I am," she said, going back to his side and taking his hand. "This is my cousin, Lelyavalin. She just arrived."

Alyamahtar didn't reply, though, his hand already limp in Calmëa's. She laid a hand on his breast to feel if he was breathing and sighed in relief.

"Who is he?" asked Lelyavalin.

Calmëa hesitated, unwilling to explain the full circumstances of how they had met Alyamahtar. At last, she said, "We found him wounded on the way here," but she knew her voice was trembling.

Lelyavalin took her hand again. "What happened?" she asked softly.

Calmëa hesitated, swallowing hard against that familiar lump of tears in her throat. "It was… someone had tried to kill him."

Lelyavalin's response was a rather fey laugh. "I think that much is obvious!" she said, a slight sob in her own throat as the laugh died.

Calmëa nodded. "It's just…" She swallowed again, unwilling to talk about it just at the moment.

Lelyavalin took her other hand and rubbed the backs of her fingers comfortingly with her thumbs. Then she paused.

"Your ring is missing," she said softly.

Calmëa had forgotten that obvious sign that something had happened between her and Fólima and she quickly withdrew her right hand, laying it on Alyamahtar's brow to feel his temperature. As she'd half expected, he was chill and clammy to the touch.

"Calmëa?"

She gulped, then forced herself to say the words. "It was Fólima that tried to kill Alyamahtar." Oddly, saying it, acknowledging the truth, dried her tears before they could fall. Even as Lelyavalin embraced her, she did not weep, but continued, "I couldn't wed him after that. Not knowing what he'd done."

For a while they sat in silence. The storm passed towards the north, followed by a chill wind from which the dell barely sheltered them. At last, they broke apart again. Calmëa took a deep breath, preparing herself for the next question she had to ask.

"Did you see any others from our family? I… I lost sight of Mother and Silmë as we fled and Father was… was at the Haven." At the thought, her eyes strayed back towards the city and the ugly plume of smoke that occasionally showed against flashes of lightning.

Lelyavalin did not reply for a while. For every moment she remained silent. Calmëa's heart fell a little more. At last, she asked, "Are you silent because you don't know or because you have bad news?"

Lelyavalin squeezed her hand. "I… don't really know," she said. "Your father's ship was gone from the Haven, my father told me, but we don't know if he was with it."

Calmëa bit her lip. "And… Mother and Silmë?"

"Nothing." Lelyavalin added hastily, "There have not been so many deaths and many have been scattered, I'm sure they're all right."

Calmëa's glance strayed back towards where Alyamahtar lay, ominously still and silent. She could not be so certain.

They continued to wait, taking turns to snatch a little rest, but neither could rest her mind for long. As Calmëa began to dream, images of fire and blood followed her, and the thought of her parents and brother perishing in flames or cut down by Noldorin swords made her start back into the waking world, where at least all was quiet and darkness.

Alyamahtar woke once or twice, long enough to murmur a few words and accept a little water, though he refused food. Neither of the two elf-maids knew what to do to help him, though; they could only try to keep him comfortable, and wait.

At long last, Nárhína returned. He looked exhausted by the starlight and the glow of the dying lantern he held, and Calmëa noticed that one of his hands was bandaged.

"Uncle, what happened?" she asked, pointing to it.

He shook his head. "Nothing to speak of. I think it's safe for you two to return to the city." He glanced at Lelyavalin. "Go back to our house."

"Have you heard anything of my parents, or Silmë?" asked Calmëa, absently wondering why she could not return to her own home.

"No," he said simply.

Lelyavalin took Calmëa's hand. "We'll go home now, Father," she said. "What about Alyamahtar?"

"I'll stay with him. Maiwë said he would try to bring a litter as soon as he could be spared."

"He's so cold," said Calmëa, looking down at Alyamahtar. In the lamplight, he looked foam-pale. Even his lips seemed to have lost all colour.

Nárhína nodded, setting down the bag he carried. "I brought some dry blankets for him," he said, and smiled up at them, though he looked like there was little heart in the expression. "I'll take care of him." He got up and gently embraced each of them in turn. "Go home and stay there," he said. "I'll find you there."

"Is it safe to look for them?" asked Calmëa.

He hesitated. "Perhaps," he said, "But they'll come to my house if they can, I'm sure of it. You're safer there."

"Why not our home?" asked Calmëa slowly, dreading the answer.

Nárhína grimaced. "The… the fire spread that far," he said softly. He didn't need to say any more.

Once more Calmëa felt that strange sensation of being about to weep while no tears came to her eyes. She licked her lips and stared down at the floor, then looked over at the pack she'd carried out here and which now contained everything she had. Her mother had been wise to insist they brought them.

It was only when Lelyavalin embraced her that she realised she was shaking.

"It's all right, Calmëa," she said. "We'll find them, and you can live with us until you can rebuild."


	9. Picking Up the Pieces

_The Silmarillion and all associated names are (c) Tolkien. No infringement intended._

_The upload played some monkey business with the formatting, but I think I fixed it as much as possible._

* * *

As Calmëa and Lelyavalin re-entered the city, Calmëa was struck first by the smell. Before, it had been blown away by the wind, but now that they were sheltered she could smell the smoke of the quenched fires, among other stenches that she couldn't identify.

Everywhere was dark. The lamps had gone out, quenched by the rain or smashed on the street. A couple of times Calmëa trod on something that crunched.

"Take care," said Lelyavalin softly. "Some of the pieces on the road are sharp."

Calmëa nodded, but it made little difference; she could barely see where she was putting her feet.

It was silent, too. Every now and then she heard voices from inside one of the buildings: the wail of a child, a cry of pain or someone sobbing softly. She tried not to listen; the sounds made tears prick in her eyes and bile rise in her throat. A chill went down her spine and she wondered if she was truly cold or if something of the horror of her surroundings was stealing the warmth from her bones.

She glanced at Lelyavalin's expression in the dim light of their little lamp. Lelyavalin was looking straight ahead, her expression set. She never looked aside, no matter what they heard. Calmëa tried to imitate her, but couldn't help glancing this way and that. She wanted to help somehow, but wasn't sure what she could even begin to do. In all likelihood, if faced with the misfortunes of others she would only be reminded of her own…

That thought was enough reminder on its own and she rubbed her eyes as they began to sting once more from more than the fading smoke.

"Calmëa?"

"I'll be all right. Just… I wish I knew what had happened to them."

Lelyavalin slipped an arm around Calmëa's shoulders and embraced her gently. "Tomorrow, when you're rested, we can try to find out. Father will also be seeking word of them. All will be well."

Calmëa sighed. She wasn't sure she believed that, but she did her best to raise her head and not allow her fear to overcome her. Lelyavalin smiled faintly, embraced her once again and then continued to walk.

It seemed to take forever to reach Lelyavalin's home. Everywhere, they were greeted with the same sights and sounds and smells. Once, they crested a small hill and were able to look down towards the Haven. Calmëa stopped then.

Though the fires were quenched, there was still a sullen glow of embers here and there. She swallowed hard against the lump in her throat as she saw a particular concentration where she knew her home had once stood. She tore her eyes away and looked to the Havens themselves. They were empty but for a few small dinghies. Every ship was gone, even her father's little fishing boat. She sighed, feeling too worn out to even feel sorrow at that loss. Lelyavalin took her hand and she followed as if in a dream.

At length, they reached Lelyavalin's home. It was surprisingly untouched, lying as it did down a little side street. It was dark and forbidding, though, as the light of Lelyavalin's lamp hit it. Calmea couldn't help a slight shudder. Still, she said nothing as they entered.

"I'll make something to eat," said Lelyavalin, setting the lamp on a ledge over the cold fireplace. "You must be famished."

Calmea sighed. She was hungry, now that she thought about it, but she didn't think she could stomach food. "Thank you, but I'd sooner rest."

Lelyavalin stared at her for a moment, then nodded. "Very well, then. You can have my bed; I'll wait here until Father returns."

"Thank you. If he has news, will you wake me?"

"Of course."

Calmea nodded and went to lie down. She set her pack down by the bed and looked at it for a moment. That was all she had, now. She felt her knees go weak and sat down heavily, burying her face in her hands. Her home was gone. She'd never go there again, never walk through that familiar door… that thought led to the image of her mother patting the doorpost as she left. In hindsight, it looked like a farewell and she wondered if her mother had known this might happen.

She was too tired to wonder about it any more, though. She felt like she'd been soaked through and wrung out, like a dishcloth. With a sigh, she let herself topple sideways and tried to sleep.

Again, it seemed that everywhere she turned she saw nothing but blood and smoke and death. She saw her home burning, heard the cries of frightened children from somewhere nearby, but when she looked she couldn't find them. She kept thinking she saw familiar faces out of the corner of her eye, but when she turned there were only wraiths in the smoke, faces and forms made of nothing but wind and flame.

Suddenly it seemed that she saw Folima beyond a wall of flame. He was calling to her, holding out his hands to beckon her. She ran towards him, thinking nothing of the fire until she reached it. Then, even as the flames licked her skin, she remembered what he had done. Why she no longer wished to marry him.

In the same instant, she realised that the fire wasn't burning her.

* * *

She woke with a gasp, throwing off the blanket that someone had laid over her. It took her a moment to catch her breath; it seemed hard to breathe. She wanted to cry, but still felt that she'd cried too much. There didn't seem a single tear left in her. She was a rag wrung dry.

She rolled onto her back and stared into the darkness, letting her breathing steady itself. She couldn't just lie here and try to cry. She had to do something. Anything.

Finally, she felt able to breathe and took a long, deep breath. The smell of smoke almost set her coughing. It was in her clothes and hair, in the air of the room… she let the breath out again in a sigh and took another, slightly shallower. She had to do something.

The dream came back to her for a moment and she saw again Folima's face in her mind's eye. She rubbed her eyes and winced as they felt gritty under her fingers. If he called to her, would she run to him as she had in that dream?

She longed to see him again. Until she thought about it, she'd not realised how much. The anger had passed and she wanted to see him again, to embrace him. She thought of all the joy they'd had together… but no matter how much she longed for him, she knew she could never forget what he had done. She shook her head and rubbed her eyes again. She had no choice. No matter how much she might still love him, his hands would always be stained with blood.

Besides, he was doubtless long gone, leaving her to the ruins of her home. Even had she thought she had a choice, she could never act on it now.

She sat up, trying to dismiss the thoughts. The sudden movement made her head swim for a moment and she wondered how long she'd been asleep.

She felt her way to the door back into the main room. That too was dark, though she could see the faint glow of the lamp. It looked almost burned out.

When she refilled it, its growing light fell on Lelyavalin's face. She had fallen asleep curled up on a chair by the fireplace. Calmëa sighed. Presumably, her uncle had not yet returned and she sat in the other chair to wait. She didn't think she'd sleep again tonight.

Without the Trees, it was difficult to judge time, but she thought it was some hours before Narhína arrived. He looked startled to see Calmëa sitting awake, waiting for him.

"Have you not slept?" he whispered, glancing at Lelyavalin, who hadn't moved.

Calmëa nodded. "I had bad dreams, though, and couldn't sleep again. Are Alymahtar and Maiwë well?"

"Yes, as far as I know. They've taken Alyamahtar up to Lord Olwë's palace; most of the wounded are there."

If any of her family were alive and hurt, that was where she might find them, then. Her uncle read the look in her eyes and nodded. "I came back to see that you and Lelyavalin were safe, but I can go and ask now that I've seen you." He went over to Lelyavalin and tenderly brushed a hand over her hair. She stirred slightly and then fell still.

"I can go," said Calmëa. "I'll sleep no more tonight, and you must need rest, Uncle."

He sighed and looked for a moment as if he would refuse, but then nodded. "I don't believe there is any more danger in the streets, at least." He shook his head a little, thoughtfully. "Nonetheless, take care." He came over and kissed her cheek, then drew back to look searchingly into her eyes. "Take the lantern, and when you have news, bring it back to us."

"I will," Calmëa promised, taking the lantern from its ledge. "Thank you."

"Good luck," he called after her as she left.

When she got to the palace, Calmëa found that the courtyard at the front was already full of elves. She couldn't see any particular order at first; the crowd milled about here and there, occasional individuals hurrying into the building or off into the streets. She stood in the gateway, looking up at the palace and feeling suddenly nervous. She'd never been so close to it and it looked forbidding, most of the windows dark. They seemed to stare at her like unfriendly eyes and she shuddered, looking back at the elves in the courtyard.

"Excuse me?" said a voice beside her and she startled, looking round to see an older elf-woman looking curiously at her. "You look a little lost. Do you need help?"

Calmëa sighed, rubbing her eyes. "I… I'm looking for news of my family."

"Ah… you lost sight of them during the battle?" The woman's voice was remarkably steady and she brushed a strand of dark hair back from her face as she spoke.

"Yes. My father stayed with our ship and we lost my brother in the crowd and my mother went to look for him…"

"Hush, calm down, it's all right. You'll find them." The woman put an arm around Calmëa's shoulders and hugged her gently. "You see over there?" She pointed at where a handful of elves was gathered by one of the walls. As Calmëa looked, one elf turned away with his face buried in his hands, apparently weeping. She nodded, not quite trusting herself to speak.

"There are lists there of all whose whereabouts we know. If anyone's found your family or they've come here looking for you, someone will be able to tell you so."

Calmëa nodded again. "Thank you."

The woman squeezed her shoulder encouragingly and walked away, heading for another young elf who had just arrived.

Calmëa hurried over to the wall, pushing past other elves as politely as she could. There were several large slates nailed up there with names on and she started reading. She noticed that there were labels next to the names, telling where the elves in question were. A distressing number were dead and that fact made her read more slowly, her heart in her mouth. Surely they were all right. Surely all her fears were in vain.

She almost startled as she saw Alyamahtar's name, but he was apparently still alive and she read on with silent thanks for that.

At last, she read 'Silmë, son of Aquildë'. Her hand shook as she looked for the label, then she had to lean on the wall for a moment as her knees went weak with relief. He was alive. Injured, but alive.

She stepped away to let someone else look and rubbed her eyes, wondering if there was anywhere she could sit down. She decided to find him first, though. She'd sit then.

She went into the palace, no longer caring for the frowning windows. The corridors were a maze of pearly stone, but those she met were able to direct her to one of the rooms.

Once again, she hesitated in the doorway. There were four pallets in the relatively small room, but only two were occupied. Calmëa's eyes were immediately drawn to the one on her left.

Silmë was lying on his back, his face half covered with bandages. Calmëa felt a sick feeling start in her gut as she looked at him. she was struck by a sudden urge to never see what was underneath those bandages. She couldn't help looking at his eyes. They were closed and the sight made her feel even sicker. She didn't think she'd ever seen him lying like that, and he was so pale that the pillow by his cheek looked grey. She suddenly wondered if he was even still alive.

As she dithered in the doorway, though, the other elf stirred and looked round.

"H-hello?" he said weakly.

Calmëa swallowed hard. "Sorry to disturb you." She took a hesitant step into the room. "This is my brother." She gestured towards Silmë.

The elf nodded, pushing himself up on an elbow, wincing. "He woke a little while ago. You're Calmëa?"

She blinked. "Yes, I am."

"He asked if anything had been seen of you."

Calmëa sighed and finally went to Silmë's side. He didn't stir at first, and when she touched his brow its chill made her shiver. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the other elf lie back down. He moaned faintly as he tried to find a comfortable position.

"Do your family know where you are?" she asked, glancing at him.

He nodded. "But they're still searching for my elder brother. I'm safe enough here while they find him."

She bit her lip, nodding, and hesitantly reached out to touch Silmë's face again. This time, he winced. She flinched, wondering if she was hurting him.

"Silmë?"

At that, his eyes slowly opened. For a moment he stared at her as if he didn't recognise her, but when she said his name again he blinked and his gaze seemed to clear.

"Calmëa…"

She grinned, feeling tears pricking the corners of her eyes. "Oh, Silmë, I've found you at last!"


End file.
